The Blacksmith Lord of Nightfort
by Omer Stor
Summary: A dark fairytale telling the story of the cursed Night's Watch Lord Commander on times long ago


**Title**: Song of Ice and Fire Tales – The Blacksmith Lord of Nightfort

**Author:** Omer Zauber

**Story Rating:**T-Rated

**Why-on-Earth:** Dark fairytales are fun to write. The original SoIaF books had many small stories, legends and fairytales, most of them regarding the Wall. I always loved them, and I even had a giant wall painting of the Rat Cook (also of Nightfort, if I am not mistaken) on my military-base room. The idea to the story came to me while reading The Hammer of the Sun, which also described 2 young princes trying to get a blacksmith to kill their father. That book ended completely differently.

**Disclaimer:**I don't own any of the characters. Names and places belong to George R. R. Martin or his publisher.

I read these books in Hebrew; I did the best I could to search or the original names of places, people, and history. If I have failed with any of them, my apologizes.

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Bran was sitting in his bed; his legs pulled to his chest in cower. He could still see in his mind the image of Mikken, Winterfell's blacksmith, illuminated by the faint forge light as he's hitting the white-hot metal. For the young child the image was terrifying.

"Are you there, Brandon?" The dry, crackling voice of Old Nan could be heard from down the corridor. The sound of her breaths reached him as she stood at his doorstep, she was breathing heavily after the long stairway which led to his room. She was a small and wrinkled old lady with only a few wisps of white hair remaining on her head, as far as he knew she was also his own father the lord's nanny.

"Yes, Nan", he felt slightly ashamed, "sorry I ran away". He crawled to the edge of the bed, where she sat next to him.

"Well, Brandon, Mikken isn't a blacksmith to be afraid of. Have I ever told you about the Blacksmith Lord of Nightfort over the great Wall?" The kid shook his head lightly, giving her his full attention, forgetting his fear. "Well", she continued, "this is a story that brings chill to my old bones as well, listen carefully, my boy…

"It was back in the days of the First Men, when the Andals came across the seas to take over the ancient kingdoms by the name of the Seven, during the times, my child of summer, of a winter long and cold enough for a man to be born and to die never seeing the summer. Far to the north the Night's Watch had a very particular Lord Commander, for before he was chosen to lead the forces on the Wall, he used to be a blacksmith. And not a regular blacksmith he was, but a master of his kind. He used to make the most marvelous pieces of work. They say his forge was big enough, that some people even mistaken it for a whole room! But more on that will wait for later…

"You see, Brandon, it was the end of the Age of Heroes. The mighty Kings of the North were engaged at long and endless war. The Northern King had twin sons, both mischievous and shared no love to their father the king. On a dark and cold night, they came to meet the blacksmith lord of Nightfort to try and scheme a plot together with him to kill the king.

"'What cruel our father the king is,' they said to him, 'Our father the king did wrong with you to send you to serve on the Wall', they continued, since it was the king who judged him to the exiled life of the Night's Watch.

"'I would not house my dogs in this place', said one, 'I hope you don't seek revenge at our deer father', said the other.

"'But it is sad', continued the first, 'unlike our dear father we would know how to appreciate our allies'.

"The other agreed, 'aye, we would know who truly deserves our royal pardon to his negligible deeds and unimportant events'.

"'And most important of all' said both of them together, 'we would know to appreciate a strong allied king to our north'.

"'One might say it is unfortunate our father still is the king, for he will be at war for many more years from now', they said, adding quickly, 'however, _we_ say, blacksmith lord, how lucky we all are, that our father is still the ruling king, wise in his _own_ way, and is expected to live for many more glorious years, we say, our dear blacksmith'.

"The blacksmith who grew suspicious at the nature of the king's sons' visit, had no more doubts when they finally said, 'we came this night, dear blacksmith, to let you know of our father's will to visit you soon and we wanted to make sure we understand each other', the twin princes grinned at each other, 'we would like you to make for him the last sword he will ever need, if you fully understand us, dear blacksmith'.

"The blacksmith knew what grim task lies before him, and after many considerations he replied, 'I do have a great sword for your father', he started, 'a sword fitting all your expectations and beyond. You may go and have a look at it, at the other room…' the blacksmith's voice faded mysteriously, his muscular arm was lifted, pointing at the direction of his forge, which was, as I told you before, dear Brandon, as big as a room. The foolish princes grinned mischievously at each other and entered the forge, completely unaware of the blacksmith's trap. With a grave look on his face, the blacksmith shut and locked the forge's lid tight behind them, a lid as big as a door.

"The blacksmith lord commander of the Night's Watch started the fire in his forge, said to be the stolen fire of a long dead ancient frost wyrm, the blacksmith started blowing air into the forge using his gigantic bellows, said to be built of a giant's ribcage. He heard hollow knocks on the forge's lid, accompanied by the princes' faint shouts of anger. Soon enough these became the panicked screams of pure terror. The blacksmith's iron will held strong against the poor princes' faith, as he bestowed his terrible, terrible curse over them:

"_'Damn you by men and damn you by gods! Death and destruction you seek, and death and destruction you shall get! You wished me to do your dirty task and kill your father, curse on the heads of relative murderers!'_

"When the screams finally diminished, he let the forge cool. He had one last task to complete before the king's arrival. He opened the forge's lid, turning the big wheel which locked it to its place. Inside, there were left only two small piles of ashes. The blacksmith brushed the ashes into a small bag, carefully. Then he started working on a long double edged sword, mixing the princes' ashes into the iron that will make the steel, needed for the blade. And he did so not a moment too soon, my child. 'Cause just by the time the sword was cold enough and the blacksmith was trying to fit a sheath to it, a big black shadow appeared at his doorstep.

"'Blacksmith Lord Commander on the Wall', that was the king himself; the blacksmith remembered him from his own trial. 'My sons sent for me, and said they will meet me here and then the three of you will grant me a great gift'. The Northern King gazed around, looking for his sons. The blacksmith stalled his answer. 'Your sons indeed requested a sword for you, Northern King', and he handed the sheathed sword to the king. The king took the sword, examining it. 'And where are my sons now, blacksmith?',

"The blacksmith answered, 'The ashes of your sons', he paused, 'are inside the sword itself'.

"The King's face twisted in anger and the blacksmith hurried to explain what the princes wished him to do, and what he had to do to stop them. The Northern King, who was neither blind nor unwise, knew already the nature of his sons and their secret wish to dethrone him. But he did not believe they will act before he will die, or at least laid on his deathbed. He looked at the forge and understood why his sons mistook it for a room.

"Filled with grief the Northern King assaulted the blacksmith. With two quick swings he lopped each of the blacksmith's hands. But he did not kill the blacksmith. No, he spared his life for stopping the treason against his kingship. Instead, the king slashed open his own throat, overly filled with sorrow for the death of both of his sons, and put an end to his own life. And so, the northern princes killed their father the King, because their ashes were put into the metal which formed the sword.

"The blacksmith who did not die, his wounds healed over the course of time, managed to set up heavy twin hammer heads on the stumps, replacing his old hands as new ones. Both punished and cursed by the gods themselves, the blacksmith managed to live, to this day. And to this day indeed, on clear winter nights, the chilled wind itself can sometimes carry over from the distant Wall the sound of the cursed Blacksmith Lord of Nightfort, as he working on his hideous metal works."

Old Nan finished her story with three taps on the metal bars of Bran's bed; Imitating the sound of a hammer-hand landing on a heated metal.

One. Two. Three.

That night, Bran dreamt he's riding to Nightfort; he found there the blacksmith and had a glorious victory over him, the jackdaws on the fort's roof cheering for him with their caws. The next morning Bran went down to the smithy and took a look at Mikken at his work. Suddenly he did not know why he thought Mikken was scary. He didn't think Mikken could kill Rob and him, or even Jon. Although, Jon wasn't their real brother, as Sansa always say.


End file.
